“But how can the Church think that, dear Father?  My husband has no rights over me now, and no duties or responsibilities with respect to me.  He can marry again if he likes.  And he will, I am sure he will, and nobody can prevent him.  How, then, can the Church say that I am still his wife?”

“Because marriage, according to the law of the Church, can only be dissolved by death,” said Father Dan.  “Haven’t I told you that before, my daughter?  Didn’t we go over it again and again when you were here the last time?”

“Yes, yes, but I thought if somebody else sought the divorce—­somebody who had never believed in the indissolubility of marriage and wasn’t bound by the law of the Church . . . we’ve heard of cases of that kind, haven’t we?”

Father Dan shook his head.

“My poor child, no.  The Church thinks marriage is a sacred covenant which no difference of belief, no sin on either side, can ever break.”

“But, Father,” I cried, “don’t you see that the law has already broken it?”

“Only the civil law, my daughter.  Remember the words of our blessed and holy Redeemer:  ’Every one that putteth away his wife and marrieth another committeth adultery; and he that marrieth one that is put away committeth adultery.’ . . .  My poor child, my heart bleeds for you, but isn’t that the Divine Commandment?”

“Then you think,” I said (the room was becoming dark and I could feel my lip trembling), “you think that because I went through that marriage ceremony two years ago . . . and though the civil law has dissolved it . . . you think I am still bound by it, and will continue to be so . . . to the end of my life?”

Father Dan plucked at his cassock, fumbled his print handkerchief, and replied: 

“I am sorry, my child, very, very sorry.”

“Father Dan,” I said sharply, for by this time my heart was beginning to blaze, “have you thought about Martin?  Aren’t you afraid that if our Church refuses to marry us he may ask some other church to do so?”

“Christ’s words must be the final law for all true Christians, my daughter.  And besides. . . .”

“Well?”

“Besides that. . . .”

“Yes?”

“It blisters my tongue to say it, my child, knowing your sufferings and great temptations, but. . . .”

“But what, dear Father?”

“You are in the position of the guilty party, and therefore no good clergyman of any Christian Church in the world, following the Commandment of his Master, would dare to marry you.”

What happened after that I cannot exactly say.  I remember that, feeling the colour flying to my face, I flung up my hands to cover it, and that when I came to full possession of my senses again Father Dan (himself in a state of great agitation) was smoothing my arms and comforting me.

“Don’t be angry with your old priest for telling you the truth—­the bitter truth, my daughter.”